Flodden Field
by Flutist Girl
Summary: Companion to "Broken Wings". The story of Nibelheim: the onset of madness, the massacre of a village, the betrayal of a brother-in-arms, the death of a hero and birth of a vengeful demon, and how one woman's faith in her fallen husband survived it all.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Zack fell back with a sigh, landing on the hotel bed with a soft rustle, like the mattress and quilts were stuffed with tissue paper. On any other mission, he might have grimaced and complained to his superiors again as he threw the flat, lumpy, synthetic-polyester pillow at his roommate, but now he was in no mood to care. He put his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling for a long time, chewing the inside of his lip in thought.

"Huh, you too, Zack?"

Zack didn't give his roommate the luxury of eye contact, and replied mechanically. "Me too, what?"

From the other side of the room, he saw his friend unpacking his small suitcase on his bed. A shock of blonde, spiked hair lowered as his fellow cadet bowed his head, fearing he had trespassed. "Well, since we've arrived, everyone's been so…dismal. I mean, even Sephiroth…."

Zack did not hear the rest. He mused over the conversation himself.

_"So, how does it feel?" Sephiroth said, turning to face the men who followed faithfully behind them as they entered the quaint little town. "To be home after all this time?"_

_The men were unnerved. This was unnatural. Cold, stoic, General, First-Class Soldier Sephiroth never spoke anything but commands and punctual briefings when needed be. Sentimentality? It was unfathomable._

_"I have no hometown. I wouldn't know," the silver-haired man concluded. It sounded wistful, sad, longing behind that formal, unfeeling, factual tone._

_"Uh…what about family?" Zack said, hoping to prompt something. Surely that was something he could admit to. He couldn't deny Aralyn, especially not now._

_Sephiroth did not move for a moment, but when he did, he turned straight to face Zack head on._

_"My mother's name is Jenova. She died shortly after I was born. My father…" He stopped, hesitated, before he covered his words with a false, hollow laugh. The general shook his head, a humorless smile on his face. He wiped his hand in the air, as if to erase his words. "Why am I even talking about this?"_

_He whirred, suddenly back to a SOLDIER. "Come on, let's go."_

Dismal? Cloud would never know the half of it.

"What's up with you?" Cloud asked, sitting on the edge of his bed. "You're not yourself."

Zack bit his lip to keep from frowning, to hold back the truth. _"Yeah,"_ he thought bitterly to himself. _"I'm a little bummed. My best pal just had twins…the most beautiful kids you ever did see! They lived…oh, twenty-eight hours or so. They died,"_ he stopped his dialogue to briefly glance at the clock, _"Seven hours ago. His wife is near mad with grief, and he's not only torn himself, but hurt further by seeing his love suffer. To top it all off, old lard-butt Shinra sent him on this stupid mission when what he __**needs**__ to do is be with his wife and heal…but no. Gotta check this reactor. No one else in Soldier can do it, not all the fifty-six seconds in the reserves. Nope. He's here, trying to do his job when he's about to fall apart. He won't talk, won't eat, won't even look away from the window. He's downstairs now, rooming alone, probably suffering unfathomably…"_

No, Cloud would never know the half of it. He wouldn't believe that his General, the great Sephiroth, had just suffered the hardest blow a man could take. He would never know that was what had prompted his thoughts, why he had said what he did about his parents. His family, his wife and deceased children and now, the parents he had never known, were probably all he could think of.

"Just a little road-sick, that's all," Zack replied, blatantly lying through his teeth.

Cloud wasn't stupid, and didn't fall for the lie. "That's never happened before. Are you sure you're all right, Zack?"

Zack sat up on the bed. "I'll walk it off."

"Don't party too hard," Cloud suggested. "We have an investigation in the morning."

He waved his hand behind him as he exited the room. "Got it."

* * *

"Sephiroth, I know you're there. _Pick up the phone!_"

Zack had roared again and again into his cell phone, scaring away some of the nocturnal fowl that hid in the barren trees. This was his thirty-second message, but he wasn't going to be the one to quit.

"Look man, you've got to stop doing this, you'll kill yourself! Come on, it's a small town, but there might be some fun things to do. I'll buy dinner, anything you want, I swear!"

Silence.

"Seph, look, I know you're hurting more than I'll ever understand and I know you are probably literally sick with worry for Aralyn…but you've got to stop! She's strong, you know that!"

Sephiroth still wasn't responding, and Zack was running low on ideas. "You're going to _kill_ yourself in there, man! It's not fair to Aralyn!

"…Or maybe a hunt! Let's go maim some monsters! Come on, it'll be great!

"…Or we can still get some food. I'm half starved!

"…Or not. Your call, man.

"What about a game? I won't mention Aidan and Na---Yeah! That's the last time I'll ever say that if you don't want!

"…Chess? Checkers? Spoons? Horseshoes? Stack the freaking chocobos?

"_Something??_"

Zack took the phone away from his ear and rubbed his temples. He had one last thing to try.

"You're wrong, Seph. You do have a family. You have Aralyn…and if you want to think of me as a brother, well, that's just peachy too! You have a home too. Faramir…"

A high beep indicated that he had run out of time to record his message. Dismayed and discouraged, Zack reluctantly ended the call.

But he wasn't done yet.

The phone rang and this time, he was rewarded with success. A hollow, weak woman's voice answered. "…Hello?"

"Aralyn!" Zack tried to sound upbeat and chipper, she'd had enough sadness in the last few days. "How are you doing?"

"Zack I…I'm really sick. I…" He lost the sound coming from her end of the phone for a moment, and listened to silence.

"Hey, don't give up hope now. Things will get better, you'll see." It was a lame thing to say to a woman who had just lost her children, but it was sincere enough.

She brushed the comfort aside, too hurt to accept it just yet. "Have you talked to Sephiroth?" she asked weakly.

Zack shook his head even though she wouldn't see the gesture. "He won't talk to me. He shuts himself in his room and won't come out. He won't pick up the phone either."

"…He won't answer me, either. I'm so worried, Zack. I…I couldn't bear it if he…if he…"

"Hey, you stop that right there," Zack said strongly. "No reason to be worried. A few days and he'll be back."

"But Zack…I dream such terrible things. I fear he's hurt so much deeper than we could ever see. He's suffering so badly…I can feel it from here."

"Aralyn, you've been through some heavy trauma. It's no surprise you're having nightmares. They don't mean anything."

"…Zack…I don't want to talk anymore. Please, leave me be." He could hear her voice shake and quiver, whispering through tears.

"Okay, I'll go, if that's what you want. Hang in there, Aralyn."

She didn't reply before she hung up.

He closed the cell phone and held it in his palm, staring at it for a long time. To his surprise, it vibrated, and Zack fumbled to get it open. Across his screen flashed in blue letters read "You have 1 new message(s)!"

Zack pressed the phone to his ear to hear the dead voice of his commander.

_"The only thing that matters is the job, Zack. Do what you will. If you hunger, eat. Go out for entertainment if it so pleases you. But leave me be. Do not call me again. I will not answer."_

* * *

_Sephiroth would never know how much his parents thought of him, especially that night. Even consumed in crystal, Lucrecia Crescent could feel her son as if he stood beside her. Though she could not move, she felt her spirit shake. She could not know why she was wracked with terror as she was. She could not explain why flames danced behind her eternally closed eyes and screams of pain and death rang in her ears. _

_She couldn't know that the murderer emerging from the shadows, with blood on his hands and sword, was the son that she had never held._

_She couldn't know that her nightmare was real._

_All she knew was that when the spectral dawn of her vision came, revealing the carnage left in the wake of the massacre, her heart shattered._

* * *

_Hojo was brought back to ancient files that night for an inexplicable reason. With no apparent prompting, his mind was brought back to tests run and completed years before. Before him lay sprawled countless documents, some spilling from their respective folders to fall forgotten to the floor. The overlying topic was the same._

_Sephiroth._

_He thought long and hard on the Jenova Project that night. By all accounts, it was a success. Sephiroth had far surpassed even the most elite of Soldiers. His strength and valor were legend. By all accounts, he was what Hojo had set out to create: a human infused with the powers of the Ancients. _

_Then why was he dissatisfied?_

_Yes, his thesis had been proven, but something was still missing. He flipped through the papers and sighed. He knew what it was. Sephiroth was a legend of a man, but he still wasn't all he could be. His research suggested that Sephiroth had not so much as brushed his incomprehensible potential, that he could be more than a General, more than a hero…_

_Perhaps, Hojo mused, he could be a god, and only then would the Jenova Project be complete._

_He never would have guessed that before the next week dawned his wish would be fulfilled, that his son would make his heart swell with pride._

_Yes, Sephiroth would become a god._

_The thought was enough to make Hojo mad with ecstasy._

* * *

A/N: I am blocking very badly for both "Motherland" and "The Marked" and I felt useless not writing. I've had this started for a while but I never expected to work on it.

The fanfiction is arranged to mirror the song "Flodden Field" by Steve McDonald. The song is about the Battle of Flodden Field in Scotland (1513), where so many Scots were killed that the ground was said to be flooded with the blood of the fallen. I will not post the lyrics here but I do want to point out this song as my inspiration.

I will probably be continuing this until my block for my other stories ends.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Zack had expected Sephiroth to be up so early, as he doubted that the General slept at all that night, but to see him out of his room was a surprise. Zack was yawning as he came down the hall, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and almost ran into his commander. After stumbling back, jarred awake, he shrugged sheepishly and chuckled a little. "Heya," Zack greeted, managing to sound cheerful. "Morning!"

Sephiroth did not say a word. He stood as proud as he always did, as if at attention; tall, straight backed, shoulders squared, except for a sad dip of his chin, a mere degree or two that made him look forlorn and lost. Silver forelocks veiled his eyes, so Zack couldn't read them, but he looked straight ahead, through a window, into the town of Nibelheim below. Zack's greeting had not altered his stance by the slightest fraction of a hair. It was unnerving to watch, as if the life had been sucked from the General and only a shell remained.

Zack put on his best smile, knowing Sephiroth needed it, and clapped his comrade reassuringly on the shoulder. Other than a slight gaze to acknowledge his presence, Sephiroth gave no reaction to it, and returned to gazing out the window.

"What are you looking at?" Zack asked, hoping perhaps to divert his commander's mind elsewhere.

Sephiroth hesitated, his eyes narrowing as the clouds shifted to let the dawning rays filter through the window. He grimaced as if in pain as the light danced across his features. Zack knew from looking at his hollow eyes alone that he was more deeply hurt than he could imagine. What worried him the most was that he wouldn't be able to reach his friend through his impenetrable shield.

"This landscape," Sephiroth said softly in a voice too passive and uncertain to be his. He raised the level of his chin so he gazed at the peaks of the nearby mountains and the cloudy sky.

"…I could swear I've seen it before."

Zack stood at his side for a long time, waiting for him to continue, but he never did. With each passing second he became more certain that his rock-solid general had lost his grounding, that he was a man with his foundation ripped out from under him. Instability had _never_ been a factor for Sephiroth in any way, but here he was, lost, confused, with innumerable doubts and fears in his eyes where once had dwelt quiet, serene confidence.

It was impossible to fathom, and worse to witness.

"Hey Seph," Zack said. "How about breakfast?"

"I am not hungry."

"You said yourself that we need to rest and eat well. Come on, we've got a job to do. You'll need your strength." All the same, Zack doubted that the fried eggs and muffins downstairs could provide his comrade with the kind of internal strength he needed. He wondered if it would even be enough to sustain him physically, so great was his agony of heart affecting his body.

"I said that I am not—"

He stopped, trailing off into silence. His eyes widened and he choked on a breath, making a miserable, pained sound in his throat, as if he had been physically struck.

Zack peered out of the window, seeing what Sephiroth was seeing for the first time.

Below them in the small town's streets, a woman had emerged from a simple, humble home. She wasn't anything extraordinary; she was simply clad in unadorned clothing, with short hair designed for practicality instead of beauty, and was hardly delicate anymore from years of being tempered by the trials of running a home, and yet she had been made more beautiful because of that labor of love. She walked, whistling a soft and happy tune to the sky, undaunted by the sun's veil of dark, ominous clouds.

And approaching her, with sweat of a long, hard day's labor on his brow and an axe slung over his shoulder, was her husband.

The man was likewise plain and of little note, with nothing about him to attract attention except for a subtle strength from working to support his family.

The woman laughed, kissing her husband as he happily swept her up into his arms, twirling her around once before setting her gently down. The pair stayed in each other's arms, their lips moving in sweet nothings that were softly and reverently spoken. Zack couldn't hear them, but he knew from the shocked expression on Sephiroth's face that _he_ could. Even from the distance, their happiness was plain as day on their faces, their radiant love shining through their eyes like beacons defying the cloudy skies.

Zack could feel that Sephiroth wasn't breathing.

The man released his wife with one last kiss on the cheek. She alighted on her feet and the two conversed for a moment, holding hands, playfully bantering back and forth. She wiped the sweat from his brow while he dusted a bit of flour off her cheek. The smiles never left their faces.

The woman, once she was dusted off a bit, returned back into the house, slyly grinning. She brought out a bundle wrapped in cloth, and the couple's tone turned more solemn and reverent.

"Seph--!" Zack cried, but it was too late.

Sephiroth had seen enough.

The door to his room was slammed and bolted before Zack could turn to follow him. Zack followed, but could do nothing but pound on the door and turn and yank on the knob in vain. No matter what Zack said or did, the room within was silent. Sephiroth had retreated far into himself once again, and Zack wondered when, if ever, he was going to resurface.

He went downstairs and got a plate, heaping it to overflowing with the most aromatic foods he could find, hoping that the smell might entice the General to eat at least. But he knew when he set it down outside his door that he could return in an hour or in a week, it wouldn't matter; the plate would remain untouched.

Zack could barely bridle his alarm. Without food or sleep and under such heavy burdens, Sephiroth was weaker than ever. When would he break?

He stopped by the window on the way downstairs to his own room to glance at the couple one last time. The man was holding a beautiful baby girl, dressed in a simple pink dress that flared out around her pudgy little ankles. He held her in one arm while the other tickled her, and the infant squirmed and gurgled in delight. The man twirled his daughter around once, and then threw her up into the air, only to receive her into his strong arms again.

"Gaia," Zack breathed as he watched the father and daughter. "Why'd you have to take Sephiroth's kids?"

Thunder boomed in the distance and the man's playing finally stopped. Protectively, he gathered his little girl in one arm and put the other around his wife, who in turn draped her shawl across both of their shoulders. Together they went into the house, the door sealing them away from the wrath of the elements just as the rain began to fall.

He watched the rain fall in sheets as he remembered the twin little souls that had come into Sephiroth's life only to be ripped away hours later. The sweetness of fatherhood had been overshadowed by the bitter taste of death. It was little consolation that he and his wife were still young. They could have another child if they so desired. But his firstborns were dead. His first son and daughter were two individuals that could never be replaced. He would never hold them again, and couldn't raise them with his steady and gently hand. Aidan and Nadiya would forever be two empty, gaping holes in his heart, two painfully hollow "might-have-been"s.

"Why him?" Zack asked in anger. "Why?!"

Thunder roared a violent response.

Sephiroth's room was still far too silent.

The ringing silence was the sound of his friend's unfathomable agony.

* * *

Despite all that had happened, Sephiroth was standing at the gate to Nibel Path well before anyone else. True to form, he was prompt, ready, and composed. All traces of what had happened the following day were wiped from his expression. He was as cool and calm as he had ever been. Zack could almost convince himself that nothing had happened.

There was still something unnerving, something simmering under the surface that made Zack's hair stand on end.

Sephiroth stood nonchalantly as they waited for their guide and the few cadets who were late. Zack, bored and uncomfortable with the silence, began his trademark rowing squats to stimulate his muscles and focus his mind on the task at hand.

Whatever happened last night was no longer relevant. All that he could think of was the job.

Sephiroth seemed to have effectively forced himself into a similar mindset.

The cadets came fairly quickly, all of them a little nervous and jittery. Sephiroth, for lack of anything better to do, briefed them all again and gave specific orders. There was no trace of last night's weakness in his voice, and he spoke without hesitation.

_This will be good for him_, Zack thought. _Something to keep his mind off the matter._

Zack recognized the girl who came running to the gate to meet them. It was Tifa, the girl whom they had met upon their entrance into the small town.

"Tifa?" Zack greeted in confusion. "You're our guide?"

"At your service!" the girl chirped.

Zack eyed the young woman thoroughly. She wore clothes that would not hinder her movement in her arms or legs, made from leather that was both attractive and simultaneously sensible. Sturdy boots made for hiking the rough terrain ran up her thighs, the soles thick enough to last plenty of wear and tear. She wore a wide-brimmed hat, though it seemed that the sun's disappearance made this last item little more than an accessory to complete the western look. Zack judged her wear to be suitable for the job.

A man was hot on her heels, a camera clenched in his hand. "Okay…say cheese!" he said without introduction or warning, raising the camera to his eye and adjusting the lenses.

Zack groaned, knowing that the picture would be all over the media, but Tifa seemed to have no qualms about having her picture taken with two elite Soldier members. She removed her hat and smoothed her hair, fussing a little more than Zack deemed necessary, blushing wildly and acting a little flustered. Zack shouldered his large sword and crossed his arms, looking very strong and professional, especially next to the playful, excited Tifa.

Sephiroth looked away from the camera, his head down, his eyes downcast, and on his face were unmistakable flickers of pain.

Tifa pouted a little, turning to the Soldier with her arms crossed. "You couldn't manage a smile?" she scolded him. "This is the only thing you'll have to remember this by!"

"I have no desire to remember anything about this day," Sephiroth said coldly and darkly. "Now, if you will kindly allow us to begin our journey, we are running late."

Even Zack was stung by the cutting ice in his voice. Tifa managed to huff and shrug it off, but the biting retort left Zack's senses ringing.

It was a reminder that he had not forgotten anything.

It was going to be a long, painful mission.

* * *

"Nobody is a better guide than me in this town!" Tifa said as she swung the gate to Nibel Path open, leaping onto the trail.

"But it's too dangerous!" Zack protested. "We can't get you involved in something like this!"

Zack looked to Sephiroth for backup. "She's just a girl," he said.

Sephiroth did not falter in his gliding steps forward. "She'll be fine if you protect her."

So they began their way up the slopes of the Nibel Mountains. Tifa's steps were light and springy, while the Soldiers and cadets marched in solemnity. She deftly led the way, agilely maneuvering her way through the winding trails and constantly instructing the others on their direction. Sephiroth was the only one capable of keeping stride with her, and while the others tripped and stumbled, he continued onward with impossible grace, his eyes always forward, focused on nothing, oddly vacant and hollow.

Overall, their ascent up the mountain was quite optimal. As Sephiroth had predicted, monsters had been present, but most of them were frightened away easily enough and without further incident. There had been only one significant encounter. Tifa, who led the way, had stumbled into the nest of a predatory bird, harming one of the eggs that the fiend guarded, ending the life of the chick before it could begin.

Her instincts were quick and true. She threw herself to the ground, rolling away from talons as long as her legs and keeping low in the sparse bushes, until she had managed to maneuver back behind Zack. It had been a trivial thing to subdue the creature, but just as Zack was about to deliver the death blow, Sephiroth's dead voice gave a command that only Zack could understand.

"Do not kill it."

Nodding his silent understanding, Zack hit the bird's skull with the blunt edge of his sword, knocking the creature senseless.

Sephiroth looked at the mother bird and the crushed egg for a long time.

"Stay back," Zack called to Cloud, who was curiously approaching the fallen bird. "It's just knocked out. It could wake up and start chowing down on you!"

Zack anticipated the questions about the whole encounter that would come during their short respite, and was prepared to cover for Sephiroth's unexplainable sentimentality toward the mother bird. "Use brings about wear, tear, and rust," he said casually as he bit into a sandwich. "So usually I just hit with the blunt side. Just as effective, no?"

It was true, but not the truth the party sought. Sephiroth nodded appreciatively, thankful that his secret had been kept.

They hiked the rest of the way to the reactor in near silence.

With every step, Zack felt an increase of tension. He felt something lurking ominously near, and every step felt like a leap closer to a death penalty. He wasn't the only one. Tifa had long since fallen silent, and he doubted that it was due to the rougher terrain that was trickier to navigate.

He knew that something was going to happen here that could never be undone.

* * *

"I want to go inside and look, too!" Tifa complained, running to the base of the reactor's steps.

Sephiroth had nearly ascended to the top, but he turned upon hearing the complaint. Meeting her eyes full on, he shook his head. "This is a top-secret facility. Non-Shinra personnel are not permitted inside."

Tifa could not rebuke him except for a feeble, "But---"

Sephiroth briskly turned to the cadet, who faced him in response to the General's unspoken summons. "Keep the young lady safe," was Sephiroth's curt, simple order.

Zack did not have time to see how Cloud fared with restraining Tifa, for Sephiroth was already passing through the reactor's main entrance. Zack called for him to wait up, but the general did not slow.

"Right," Zack murmured as he shouldered his sword and sprinted to catch up. "Faster we go, sooner he gets home. Got it. Let's go."

But he felt a shudder as he spoke the word "home", as if by the sealing of the door behind him, the place had forever become unattainable. Maybe this was a point of no return. Maybe there would be no going back.

It was a dark thought for the normally optimistic Zack to be thinking, but try as he might, he couldn't refute it.

Wanting to go back but knowing he must go forward, if only for Sephiroth's sake, he descended into the darkness of the Nibelheim reactor.

* * *

A/N: I took most of the dialogue from Crisis Core, but added some adjustments to make the events compatible with Broken Wings.

And I don't own it...yeah. No credit taken where it is due elsewhere.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I watched the coresponding scene of Crisis Core a thousand times yesterday, trying my best to accurately describe what I saw. This is by far the hardest thing I've ever had to write. I am begging, now more than ever, for constructive critisizm. This is the hardest part - describing the immaculate Sephiroth's struggle while keeping him in character and staying true to the canon. Please, help me make this better!_

_Next chpater - I try my hand at writing Genesis._

Chapter Three

The central staircase ascended past either of their sights, continuing upward into an even deeper, more insidious darkness. Zack hesitated, a bit taken aback by his surroundings. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this formidable behemoth of iron, concrete, and mako. He couldn't see the ceiling, and it was disconcerting. The pipes of iron reached ever upward, lankily scaling the concrete walls, but if they met an end, it was one that Zack couldn't see. Looking up was like peering into a dizzying abyss.

"Zack," Sephiroth said warningly.

Zack shook his head and continued on, running to catch up to his commander.

The very building seemed alive. Both Sephiroth and Zack made no noise as they trespassed except for their footfalls on the steel steps, but in response came a thousand different sounds. Liquid rushed through pipes thicker than the two of them, and steam hissed from junctions in the plumbing to release pressure. Harsh, spitting sparks sometimes flew from a frayed wire or other electrical outlets. A machine that Zack couldn't see hummed darkly, and metal shrieked as alloys weakened by rust succumbed to decay.

There was no light, only an otherworldly glow that illuminated their way enough to navigate by. Mako shooting through transparent tubing gave shots of jade to the almost crimson aura that seemed to permeate the atmosphere. Neon red lights flickered in seeming randomness like piercing, accusatory eyes, some out in the open, others peering out from behind steel scaffolding or a bulky control panel. The air smelled of rust, mildew and decay, the air thick with the stale and overbearing scents, as if they were deep within an earthen cavern instead of a building that was many floors above the ground. The air was chilled, just to the point to make Zack's hair stand on end, and yet was thick and humid with a vapor that was too heavy to be water. The condensation clung to him as a thin film, making his sensitive skin tingle and somehow heightening his alarm. The cold sweat that dripped down his temples could not wash it away; he wondered if anything ever would, or if he would be tainted forever.

They continued climbing, surrounded by the sounds of the reactor, swallowed up in the dark, mammoth area. Zack didn't know how long they climbed; the only way to measure was the clanks and creaks that each foot made as he put it to a new rusted step. He lost track at six hundred and seven, and after that there was no distinction between each heavy second.

After a while, they had climbed to a thick metal door. Sephiroth mechanically waved his Shinra ID card past a scanner, and the two of them were granted clearance into the heart of the reactor.

The staircase they had followed all the way up continued upward and onward. Along the steep slant of the staircase branched off three tiers, each to the left and right of the steps, creating sub-levels that became smaller as they progressed upward. Mako pods stood in pairs, bulky cages of steel, each with one circular window that revealed bluish mako that glowed like a single, unblinking eye. There were twelve in all, and behind them were smaller clusters of winking red florescent lights. At the top, on the third dais, was a single light in the middle of the wall, an oddly hopeful beacon even though the light was just as cold and artificial as any of the others. It was something to aim for at the very least.

Zack reached the top at long last, slightly winded from the exhaustive climb. Settled between the two pairs of mako chambers on either side of him was a thick metal door with odd engravings on it.

"Jenova," Zack pondered aloud, reading the inscription above him. "Interesting."

He experimentally ran his hands over the door, the raised markings cold on his fingertips. He knocked softly, and deducted from the sound that there was another chamber behind it. Intrigued, he proceeded to search for an entrance, but there was no doorknob, padlock, or scanner to request identification for clearance. "The door is…" he kicked it softly, not expecting a result, and continued to search for a way in without result. "…Sealed, of course," he deducted musingly.

Disappointed by the dead end, he turned away slowly, ready to investigate elsewhere, but was still almost magnetically drawn to the door in such a way that made it difficult to turn back. Eventually, shaking his head, he parted his eyes from the strange portal, and it was only then that it hit him.

"Jenova…?!"

He whirred back, stunned with the connection. Yes, he had read it right. There, in large, capital letters, was engraved the name of Sephiroth's mother in the cold stone.

Was it a coincidence?

Zack turned around, alarmed when he did not find his commander at his side, and worried about how he had received the revelation. He had assumed that Sephiroth had followed, and had barely noticed when Sephiroth's confident gait slowed dramatically and, for the first time since Zack had met the general, he lagged behind.

Sephiroth had his back to Zack and was descending the stairs, his posture unreadable, but his steps slow and ponderous. Silently, he glided down to the first tier, making his way to one of the mako chambers.

Zack, his worry for Sephiroth overpowering his intrigue of the door and its mysteries, began to follow his leader's path.

"This is the cause of the malfunction," Sephiroth said, not facing Zack, his voice betraying nothing. "This section is broken."

Just as Zack stepped onto the level where Sephiroth was, the general tore his eyes from the pod to give him a curt order in the voice that Zack had known and served under for months. "Zack, go seal the valve."

Zack did what he was told without further comment, glad that some of his old commander was peeking through.

But as Zack passed Sephiroth on his way to the junction of valves and pipes, he heard the general muse in unsettled bewilderment that was startlingly uncharacteristic for the grounded Soldier.

"Why did it break?"

In that single question, Zack heard a thousand more.

* * *

It was a quick task; the valve sliding shut under Zack's strong coercion, creaking as pressure built up behind the sealed pipe, but Sephiroth could not stay still for even the time it took Zack to close it. He wandered restlessly to a different tank, clearly troubled and ill at ease.

The moment it was done, Zack quickly returned to his friend's side. He watched his general's expression change from confusion, to hurt, to disgust and back again, as he peered into the sole window of the pod, the only portal through which to view its occupant.

Wordlessly, Sephiroth stepped to the side to allow Zack room to see for himself, but the commander remained nearby. Zack nervously approached, and peered into the glowing mako within the chamber to behold the distorted face of a once-human, warped into a misshapen deformity of a creature.

Stunned and winded by the terrible visage, Zack drew back and struggled to regain his breath. "What _is_ that…?" he asked, disbelieving, the mako eyes of the mutant assailing him even though he had turned his gaze away from it.

Sephiroth hesitated, letting the gravity of the situation sink in while simultaneously allowing Zack to regain his bearings. "You average Soldier members are mako-infused humans. You're enhanced," he continued as Zack turned a confused gaze to him, "But you're still human."

"But then, what are those things?" Sephiroth asked rhetorically, turning his eyes back to the tank. Zack followed the example and forced himself to peer at the fiend again. "Their mako energy levels are exponentially higher than yours."

"Are they…monsters?" Zack asked hesitantly.

Sephiroth turned from the tank and stepped down from the dais, returning to the base of the stairs, his back to Zack, his head down.

"Yes," he said at last. "The Shinra scientist Hojo was the one who created them." He could hear the bitter note in the general's tone, and understood that he could not possibly understand what had happened to form such hatred between the scientist and the Soldier.

"Abominations spawned by mako energy," he said as he faced Zack. "That's what monsters are." Sephiroth couldn't meet his eyes as he said it. Zack was impressed by how calm he seemed when such monsters must have been raging in his mind, but knew his friend well enough to read behind the calm façade. What subtle hints the commander gave were more than enough to be alarming. To Zack, a refusal to lock eyes or a shallow dip of his chin was as clear a sign of internal strife as a disfigured countenance would have been.

"You said 'average' member," Zack continued. "What about you?"

It wasn't even a minute before Zack came to regret asking his question.

Sephiroth's calm countenance dropped, and Zack peered into a face open and tortured with shock. He began to choke softly, his breaths coming heavily, laboriously, painfully. Then, gasping as if in terrible pain, Sephiroth turned away, hiding his face in shame behind hands that clutched his head in anguish. His body was bent, shoulders heaving as he struggled to breathe. He stepped heavily, stumbling, all his grace and composure lost.

"Hey, Sephiroth!" Zack cried, terrified to see his commander in such a state. He rushed up behind him and reached out, grasping an armored shoulder, moving along with his labored steps. Zack threaded his arm under the bent body, trying to move so that he could push him into his normal, upright position. Sephiroth only slumped further, the weight of Zack's helping hands only burdening him more instead of alleviating the hurt. The proud, strong general nearly fell to his knees, a breath away from surrendering to the compounded pains and uncertainties of the last few days.

In a burst of strength ignited by pain, Sephiroth flung his arm outward, pushing Zack away from him. Zack was forced to fall back, unable to reach his friend any longer. Now, Zack stood as a helpless witness to his friend's collapse.

"Could it be…?" he moaned falteringly, trembling under the weight of his torment, "…that I…was created the same way?

"Am I…the same as all these monsters?"

* * *

Zack didn't know how to respond, but eventually made his way back to his commander's side, not knowing if his presence would help or further hurt his friend.

"I knew," Sephiroth said, "ever since I was a child. I was not like the others. I knew mine was a special existence."

Metal groaned under stress, and a hiss of air announced the release of pressure from one of the mako pods. Before Zack could respond, the whole front of the malfunctioning chamber fell forward, and with its fall released one of the demons, who lay helplessly on its side, unable to move from where it had fallen.

Sephiroth did not look, but now Zack could see the whole form of the monster instead of just its face. The skin was a harsh cerulean from the waist up, and the brown-orange of rot and decay from the waist down. The creature's seven fingers were elongated to perhaps twice the length of a normal human's, tipped with scythe-like talons, and were either broken many times in many places or had developed a number more joints. Along the monster's spine and arms were boney spikes, like the back of a scaled fish. Zack had no doubt that the creature would be strong if it wasn't too sick with mako poisoning to function, for its muscles were well formed, bulging under the oddly glossy skin with a strength that had been purchased with the deformity's humanity. Though the mouth was too wide, its teeth too numerous and sharp, a very human expression of helplessness was written there.

"But this…" Sephiroth continued, his voice rougher, choking back emotion. "This was _not_ what I meant!"

Sephiroth held up his trembling hands, looking at them with eyes the same mako hue as the monster's. He found five fingers, instead of the unnatural seven, with normal length and joints, stronger than most perhaps but with the same shape and function. The normalcy of his hands did not convince Sephiroth. "Am I…a human being?"

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"No such luck," another said. "You are a monster."

The third, unexpected voice had jarred Sephiroth from his stupor. He lowered his hands, closing them into loose fists, and raised his head, stunned by the new twist in events. He knew, even in his tortured mind, that he had to react, and quickly.

The burst of fire came from nowhere, catching Zack off guard and throwing him down with no reaction but a startled cry. Sephiroth was more prepared, and, while he let out a surprised gasp upon seeing his opponent, he acted as if undisturbed. With the composure characteristic of the proud Soldier General, he fluidly raised his hand into the air, directly pointing toward the angry blaze, and cast a shimmering silver-blue barrier that burst from his fingertips with no more effort than a thought. The icy shield hissed as it absorbed the flame, blanketing the burst and extinguishing it as easily as a candle in a gale. A light gray mist and short-lived, turquoise sparks spilled from his palm as the aftermath of the magic.

The quiet, breathy aura of the dying protection spell faded as Sephiroth slowly lowered his arm to his side, and as he did, a single-winged man descended to land lithely behind the General.

"Sephiroth," the winged man said. "You were the greatest monster created by the Jenova Project."

"Genesis!" Zack hissed through grit teeth, recognizing the man at last. "So you _are_ alive!"

The man turned his focus away from Sephiroth to eye the man whom he had struck, allowing Zack to see just how much the ex-Soldier First Class had changed.

Genesis's hair, once a soft reddish auburn, was noticeably streaked with a dull, lifeless gray, and had lost its old luster. His skin was almost ashen, with a sickly, chalky pallor. Even his trademark crimson cloak seemed to be dusted with wear and decay near the shoulders. It was a sobering sight to see.

His pale lips spread into a small, wry smile. "I suppose I am if you can call _this_ living," he replied almost sneeringly to Zack, his gloved fingers ghosting over his sallow face.

"What is the Jenova Project?" Sephiroth asked in an interrogative tone. If he was pleased that his old friend was alive, or surprised to see him here, or hurt to see him so obviously sick, he did not show any of it.

Genesis didn't seem too hurt by Sephiroth's briskness, though his expression did seem to indicate that he had expected some kind of greeting or formalities. Even enemies usually engaged in one form of talk or another before battle. Genesis took his sweet time replying.

"The Jenova Project," he began, turning to his once-friend, "was the term used for all experiments relating to the use of Jenova's cells."

"My mother's…cells?" Sephiroth mused, disbelief only half concealed by an indifferent voice that faltered or cracked here and there. He turned to look at the monster in the mako tank.

"Poor little Sephiroth," Genesis said, spreading his arms out. Perhaps his tone was sincere sympathy. Perhaps it was a mockery of Sephiroth's clear uncertainties, or his ignorance about the woman who gave him life. "You've never actually met your mother," he continued, a little more subtly. He sat on the steps, leaning against them casually, his wing fluttering softly, the movement as natural as a wave of his fingertips. "You've only been told her name, no?

"I don't know what images you've conjured up in your head but…"

Zack didn't know what Genesis had to say, but he could tell that it wasn't meant to uplift his friend any. Instinct told him to strangle the words before they could escape and further wound the already shattered Sephiroth, and then throttle the decaying vessel that would have spoken them. Adrenaline ran hot in his blood; he knew Sephiroth was in as grave a danger as if Genesis held a sword to his throat—maybe more so, as Sephiroth had always been Genesis's superior in swordplay. Genesis couldn't know how unbalanced Sephiroth was, what he had lost and the enormous, insurmountable toll it was taking on the General.

…Or could he? Was that his intention—to break Sephiroth while he already tottered on the edge of ruin?

"Genesis…no!" Zack rasped in pain, still clutching his side and writhing on the ground, struggling to regain his footing, and failing.

But mere words would not stop Genesis.

"Jenova," Genesis hissed, his angry cries ringing through the cavernous reactor, "was excavated from a two-thousand year old rock layer," he threw bitterly at Sephiroth.

"She's a monster," he concluded, and let the accusation ring against the silence.

* * *

Sephiroth took the verbal blow as if it had been physical. He staggered back, shaking his head in disbelief, his eyes darting from the monster from the broken tank, to the engraving of his mother's name, to the eleven other monsters to which, if Genesis was to be believed, his mother, and he himself, was identical.

"Sephiroth," Genesis said mildly, sad and imploring now. "I need your help." He bowed his head, a hand clenched too tightly to his side, his wing twitching once before falling a little limper than was natural. "My body is continuing to degrade."

Sephiroth did not respond, and even turned a cold shoulder to him. Zack silently applauded him for it.

Genesis rose to his feet, angrily, and called, "Soldier first class…Sephiroth!"

The silver haired man raised his head quickly, seemingly in instinct. Perhaps it had been response to a call to attention, or maybe such a formal address startled him. His face, now unhidden behind silver bangs, was clearly wounded with shock, disbelief, doubt, anger, _hurt_…

He quietly choked on a breath, but held himself tall and silent thereafter, his pride refusing to let him bend.

"Jenova Project G gave birth to Angeal, and monsters like myself," Genesis responded, beginning to approach Sephiroth, who still stood at attention. "Jenova Project _S_…"

Zack saw the connection immediately.

"…Used the remains of countless failed experiments to create a perfect monster."

"What do you want of me?" Sephiroth asked simply.

"Your traits cannot be copied unto others," he said bitterly, eyes flashing with envy. "Your genes can't be diffused. Therefore," he paused, and then spoke with clear longing and a dreamy hopefulness, "your body cannot degrade." He smiled in pure, childlike ecstasy for a glimmer of a moment, lost in the fantasy of regaining his once immaculate body—of the cessation of the weakness and the pain.

The single wing on his back trembled in delight.

Then, for a single instant, Zack saw Genesis glare at Sephiroth with nothing less than ravenous ruthlessness. Here was the one way he could be saved. The hunger in his eyes was fierce and passionate; the depth of longing was terrifying. His eyes moved to focus on Sephiroth. Zack knew, from that one small lapse in Genesis's control alone, that his aim would not falter.

Forcing his violent longings back, he moved to stand parallel to Sephiroth, facing the way he faced, looking out to the point in space where Sephiroth gazed.

"Share your cells with me." It was less of a plea and more of a demand. Perhaps, now that Genesis had slipped once, it would be impossible for him to entirely rein in his voracious yearning.

"My friend," he said softly, quoting a stanza from _Loveless_, "your desire…" He produced a large Banora White apple from inside his crimson cloak, so big that his hand could barely contain it. He held out the ripe, lavender fruit to Sephiroth in a final plea, unable to keep the burning fervor from his voice. "…Is the bringer of life, the gift of the Goddess!"

Sephiroth turned to Genesis slowly, gazing at the fruit for a long time. Seeking an answer, not only to Genesis's request, but for all the uncertainties that raged within him, he turned his head to the door which held the engraving of his mother's name.

Something flashed. The breath rushed from Sephiroth's lungs and he recoiled, cringing.

Sephiroth took a moment to compose himself before he replied to Genesis's claims and request.

"Whether your words," he began, "are lies created to deceive me…" He turned the full power of his fey eyes on Genesis, suspicious and accusing.

"Or the truth," his eyes and voice softened, becoming sad and quietly longing, "that I have sought all my life…

"It makes no difference."

Sephiroth swiped the Banora White from Genesis's palm with one brisk stroke of the back of his hand.

"You will rot."

And then he walked away, not looking back, no pity or remorse for his friend in any of the cold, decisive steps he took away.

"I see," Genesis said sadly, moving his hands over his heart and turning away. "Perfect monster, indeed." The despair in his voice had been so great that if Genesis hadn't just destroyed his best friend, Zack might have been sorry for the ex-Soldier's imminent slow, agonizing death as each individual part of him decayed.

"What have you done?" Zack wailed.

But Genesis was gone, following Sephiroth, reciting lines from _Loveless_ as he vanished.

"When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end, the Goddess descends from the sky. Wings of light and dark spread afar; she guides us to bliss…her gift everlasting."

"No! _Stop!" _Zack called as he pulled himself to his feet. He didn't know how he was going to stop Genesis, or if he could even catch up, but he was going to give it all he had for his friend's sake.

* * *

A/N: Genesis is harder to write than Sephiroth is. This chapter will get a make-over soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Complications kept Zack from reaching his friend.

No sooner had he stepped out of the reactor then he witnessed a blast that hit Cloud straight on, making him crumple to his knees and then slump to the ground in unconsciousness. Tifa was on her toes, her fists up, ready to fight, but she was outnumbered three to one, with only the incapacitated Cloud to aid her.

Zack cursed, wondering if Genesis had arranged the ambush. He wouldn't doubt it.

As it was, there was nothing he could do but fight. He couldn't abandon Tifa and Cloud.

The fight was welcomed. Zack had had enough of the intricate webbing and twisting of words that had occurred in the reactor; that was a battle he was unfamiliar with. Fighting hand-to-hand was how he was used to resolving conflicts. Through his blade he could channel his rage without having to dilute or suppress its destructive nature, and still be justified. It was part of the job; defend your comrades.

It was over too quickly for him to vent everything, but it did help to ease the burden.

With a heart still throbbing fast and hard and senses tingling with the rush of adrenaline, he shouldered his sword, but kept it loose in the scabbard, and rushed to Cloud's aid. Tifa was kneeled protectively over Cloud, who was clearly in pain but at least not mortally injured.

"He…tried to protect me…" she whispered, still a little weak and afraid from the shock of the ambush.

"I know," Zack said. It was all he _could_ say. Trying to be practical and brush the uncomfortable sentimentality aside, he continued quickly. "Tifa, stay close to me."

Tifa nodded, then, with strength Zack wouldn't have expected from such a slender body, gripped the fallen Cloud by his shoulders and hefted him onto her own back, leaning all his weight on her.

It wasn't the initial attack that delayed Zack for so long – it was the slow pace which Cloud's wounded state forced them into as they descended the treacherous, winding trail of the Nibel Mountains. A light rain had fallen while he had been in the reactor, just enough to slicken the dusty dirt into mud. Going up, they had to fight against gravity, but going down, they had to struggle twice as hard so as not to be overcome by it.

There were too many close calls. Tifa's dexterity wasn't there to save them, as she had to focus all her efforts into merely supporting Cloud. Twice, it nearly cost both Cloud and Tifa their lives: once they lost their footing as they navigated a narrow ravine with one edge dropping off into a sheer cliff; and the other, a misplaced step triggered a would-be avalanche, had Zack not been so close by.

It was twelve hours from the time he exited the reactor to their arrival at the outskirts of Nibelheim. The ascent that morning had taken three.

Zack worked very hard to focus on how Cloud was already improving enough to stumble his way through easier terrain instead of how much could have happened to Sephiroth in those twelve hours.

* * *

Tifa propped Cloud up against the outside wall of the inn, making sure he could stand on his own before backing away. Now that they had returned, with Cloud tired but seemingly no worse for the wear --and well within aid's reach if it turned out that he wasn't-- Zack could turn his attention to other matters.

"Where did Sephiroth go…?"

Cloud was shifting so he was more standing that leaning, averting his eyes from Tifa and her hands that were outstretched should he need them. Zack admired the boy's resilience; perhaps he would make a fine Soldier one day.

"Something the matter?" Tifa asked.

Zack briefly contemplated on all the millions of things that were the matter right now, and then reminded himself that he could share none of them—some, for the confidentiality of Shinra's secrets, but most because he was the only one aside from his wife that Sephiroth confided his secrets in. He would die before he betrayed the confidence Sephiroth had grown to trust him with. "Sorry, I can't tell you."

Tifa shook her head and held up her hands in defeat. "I'm not surprised." She checked one last time that Cloud was okay, then, knowing that she had fulfilled her duties as a guide, dismissed herself.

"I'll ask around town about Sephiroth," was the farewell she left Zack with.

"Thanks, Tifa," he called back. Maybe she heard, maybe she was too far away.

She had left in an awful hurry.

_Smart girl_, Zack thought. _Stay out of this._

* * *

Cloud needed little attention. Zack produced a never-used Cure materia, and its minimal effects were more than enough to restore him to reasonable health, if not peak physical condition. To be safe, he used a Sleep materia to send Cloud into a short, but deep and desperately needed slumber to revive his body and rejuvenate his spirit.

Zack used the time in solitude to try to sort through his thoughts, but it was little use. He checked his phone to find a message from Aralyn.

"_Zack? Why won't Sephiroth talk to me? Is he all right? What's happened? Oh…oh Gaia…what is happening to my angel?!"_

He tried to call Aralyn back, but the line was busy. He'd like to think that it was because she and Sephiroth were talking, but he knew better. It was counter-intuitive, but if Sephiroth was hurting, he would only distance himself from his wife so that she wouldn't have to bear his burden as well as her own.

When Cloud awakened, his thoughts were more tangled and convoluted than they ever had been.

"Tifa's safe," Zack said as Cloud sat up with some difficulty. "Don't worry." If he couldn't ease his own worries, perhaps he could help alleviate Cloud's.

"If only I were Soldier…" Contempt and frustration for his weaknesses were biting away at him, and were the only lingering effects of the attack that morning.

_Hey,_ Zack thought, _I'm in Soldier and I _still_ can't protect the ones I care about!_

"Zack?" Cloud asked, worried. This wasn't the light, carefree Zack he knew. The man sitting across from him on the bed was slumped over, like he bore an unbearable burden on his shoulders, his eyes downcast, his visage solemn and sad.

"Soldier is like a den of monsters," Zack said. "Don't go inside."

Cloud shifted uncomfortably, knowing that that was something that the real Zack, who took pride and honor from his position in Soldier, would never say.

"I don't know, man…" He paused. "I thought I knew…but…"

Sighing loudly in tired exasperation, he let himself fall on his back on the bed, lying sprawled out with his hands behind his head and his legs dangling off the edge. His eyes were on the ceiling, but were seeing something else.

"By the way," he said blandly, trying to change the subject. "Do you know Tifa?"

Now it was Cloud who turned away, ashamed. "Sort of," he admitted in a quiet murmur.

"Talked to her?"

"No."

Zack raised himself up on one elbow. "I'm sensing some issues here…shouldn't you do something?"

Cloud hung his head, laid it on his knees, and curled into himself, creating a clear shell around him. He didn't want to talk about it in depth. Zack was respectful. He had his own secrets; he would let Cloud keep his.

"I'm one to talk," Zack mumbled. Slowly, he rose to his feet and began to pace. "I'm with Soldier so…fighting's all I do. Sorting things out is someone else's job." His pace quickened and his voice became bitter and laced with anger. "What's going on? Who's the enemy?"

He had approached the small table where his sword was stood on its tip, leaned up against the plain furniture. In rage born from confusion and frustration, he seized his sword and raised it up over his head as if to strike, roaring, "It makes no difference to me!"

But his flare of anger died as quickly as it had come, and he lowered the large blade. Holding the hilt to his chest, he leaned his forehead on the flat side of the blade and sighed deeply. The metal was cool, but not cold, and through two holes bored in the base he could see the painting on the wall. The majestic, serene mountains and forests painted in subtle twilight-brushed greens were shimmering and glimmering.

It wasn't the painting, he realized. It was his eyes. His sight was blurring, and it appeared that he was looking through water because he was. Salt water. Hot, salt water that stung and burned. His pride would not let the dam break to release the poison waters, but the tears had their revenge in both pain and shame, and would not be banished.

_What's happening? To Sephiroth…to me…to Soldier… And why? Why now? Why _us_?_

"Hey, Zack. You know, I've never seen you use that."

Zack was stunned out of his dark questioning. Cloud's words had triggered more thoughts, different memories.

_"Use brings about wear, tear, and rust, and that's a _real_ waste," Angeal had said when Zack had asked that very same question. And then, when his mentor had used the blade to save his life, he had said, "You're a little more important than my sword…but just a little!" He had smiled, chuckling a little as he extended his hand to help him up, but Zack knew that he hadn't been joking. _

_"Embrace your dreams," Zack had told the cadets, holding Angeal's Buster Sword high. "And…whatever happens…protect your Soldier honor."_

"This," Zack said, "is a symbol of my dreams and honor. No…" he stopped, looking down the length of his blade from where he held it, examining it with new, clearer eyes. "It's more.

"That's right, I had almost forgotten!" A ghost of a smile graced his lips, a welcome reprieve from the burdened frown of before. "Thank you, Cloud."

"Huh?" Cloud said, confused as to what he had done and perhaps what Zack had meant in general. That was all right. Zack had needed the enlightenment; not Cloud. It wasn't necessary that he understood.

Zack set his sword down reverently, and then straightened. "Right!" he said, shaking off the last of his despair. Suddenly he was back to the Zack that could not be daunted, who looked eat everything with a smile and shrugged off difficulties with a laugh. He went back to his bedside, seeming more energized as he did a few of his trademark squats before throwing himself onto his bed.

"I'm gonna crash. 'Night!"

Zack didn't know what was happening to Sephiroth, or to himself for that matter, but he was out of his slump. Pessimism and confusion didn't suit him. He knew that when the morning came, he still wouldn't have answers, but as sure as the dawn he would continue plowing through this mess with his usual optimism.

_After all_, he thought with a smile, _what's the worst that could possibly happen?_

_

* * *

_

A/N: Little does he know.... Ah, sweet irony. It hurts.

Next chapter: Seph in the library learning the "truth"

Next next chapter: ..........pain.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Up, up, up Sleeping Beauty!" Zack called, rapping his knuckles against the General's door. "We in Soldier are _early_ birds! Greet the day with a big fat smile…you know who told me that? Okay, so maybe you didn't use those _exact_ words but come on, I got your message loud and clear! Five isn't so bad! Heck, I gave you a whole extra hour!"

"Seph_i_," he continued in a high, singsong voice. "Setting a _bad_ example for the little cadet-ies…" He adjusted a heaping tray of food, rattling and jostling dishes overflowing with every food that could even vaguely be associated with breakfast. "Gotcha food! _Food!_" he squawked as a Banora White rolled off his tray. As both his hands were full, he had to perform a clever but very awkward maneuver of bending his knees to snag the apple's stem in between his teeth. "'Isth 'ood man. 'Ery 'ital to eh…'ood 'ay."

When he had spat the apple back onto the tray, an orange rolled off, followed by the toppling of a bowl of granola and yogurt. Zack tried for the orange, but had nothing to sink his teeth into like he had with the apple. The yogurt he sort of caught—on his foot. Before long, more of his breakfast was on the floor than his tray.

Undeterred, he dropped the tray and adjourned to the outdoors. Zack decided that if Sephiroth would not be swayed from seclusion by a friendly, civil breakfast, other means might have to be used. The first on his mind was public humiliation.

"_Hey!_" Zack screamed up to the General's second-story window, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. _"Get out of bed!"_ After screaming a bit more, he took two metal dishes he'd salvaged from his spilled breakfast heap upstairs and banged them together like cymbals.

He woke up half the village and probably tarnished the reputation of Soldier forever, but Sephiroth did not emerge.

"Excuse me, sir?" a small voice asked. Deciding that this approach was useless anyway, he stopped his poorly improvised percussion and listened to the daughter of the owner of their inn.

"Um…Mr. Sephiroth's not in his room, sir," she timidly said as she peeked out from around the doorframe. "Hasn't been since you left for Mt. Nibel yesterday."

Zack felt deflated.

He wasn't even in his room.

So he had humiliated himself for nothing.

He threw the plates to the ground. He had awoken happy and optimistic, but now he was very unmistakably grumpy. Failure did that to some people sometimes, he had heard. "There's a mess upstairs," he grumbled to the girl as he stomped inside.

"I'll get right on it, sir," she promised with a little curtsy.

"And if Sephiroth asks, this didn't happen," he snapped a little too sharply.

"Of course not, sir."

"And if anyone knows where they went I want them sent to me _right_—"

He stopped as he caught sight of the girl, who was bearing the abuse of his anger with her head meekly down, hands softly folded, humbly submissive to his harsh, biting attacks. Zack stopped himself, biting his tongue to stem the flow of bitter, burning words.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely once the burning words had been smothered. "You—I shouldn't have—"

"It's all right," she assured him, a kind smile on her thin lips. "I understand."

"I can clean up…the mess. Where are the supplies?"

"Don't worry about it. You have bigger things to take care of. I'll clean it up and give you a holler if I hear word of your friend."

_Your friend,_ she had said. "What's your name?" Zack asked her.

"Kataline, sir."

"Thanks, Kataline."

She smiled, hefted up a mop in one hand and a pail of water in the other, and ascended the stairs with a quick, lithe gait.

As she disappeared, behind his eyes flashed the image of her thin body torn open from shoulder to hip, buried beneath the collapsed staircase, trapped and bleeding to death as she was slowly consumed by roaring flames.

Zack shook his head and continued onward, attributing the disturbing vision to stress.

* * *

"Aralyn?" Zack asked, wondering if he had the right number. He had dialed almost hopelessly, knowing how busy her line was as she tried desperately to reach her husband. When she had picked up, it had been a surprise.

"…Zack?" she asked, and he could hear the release of a world of hurt lift her voice. "Zack, is it really you?"

"Heya, girl," he said. "You hanging on?"

"Somehow," she replied. "It's…not easy."

"How are you?" he asked. "Have they released you from the hospital yet?"

"No," she sighed. "There are still some lingering complications from the birth."

_And she doesn't even have any children to make the pain worth it…_ "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, perhaps a little too quickly.

"But you wish Sephiroth was there to help you through it," he stated, reading the sorrowful note in your voice.

"I could use my guardian angel now," she whispered. "But I…I shouldn't be so selfish—this is hard on the both of us."

"He needs you too, and you aren't being selfish. But hey, this will pass, you'll see. Have you gotten through to Seph?"

"No…he still won't answer. How…how is he?" she whispered worriedly, her voice tender with concern and love.

"To be truthful, I haven't seen him since yesterday." After he said it, he realized that it was probably the wrong thing to say. He grimaced and continued quickly so as not to add to Aralyn's worries. "But hey, he's never disobeyed an order before, and orders are to stay in Nibelheim. He can't be far. We'll find 'em."

Aralyn hesitated. "But he did disobey. Once."

Zack sucked in a breath, seeing where she was going. Once, when he had been positioned to protect President Shinra during an attack by Avalanche, Aralyn had been faithfully waiting for him in the housing area, sitting on the doorstep of the General's living quarters. She had refused to be evacuated by the Turks, unaware that Avalanche had planted a bomb in that very building. Sephiroth had blatantly defied his explicit orders of guarding the President to charge into the inferno to rescue her.

If he thought it would serve some purpose on Aralyn's behalf, no matter how trivial, it was very possible that he was very far away by now.

"Well let's not worry about that yet," Zack said, hoping to brush the gloom aside, but he wasn't able to shake a nagging foreboding sense. "There's still a lot of Nibelheim to search. He'll turn up, don't you worry. Just focus on getting better."

"I'm in no danger," she said. "But…I'm not so sure about Sephiroth. I feel like…" The line went so quiet that Zack wondered if their connection had flickered.

"Hello? Aralyn?"

"I'm sorry Zack, it's nothing. Thank you for calling. I feel a little better now."

"I'll get him home to you safe and sound, I promise," Zack said. "You take care."

"Be careful," she pleaded, frightened. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. Just take it easy and heal. Seph and I will see you in a few days, ok?"

"…O-ok.."

"Atta girl. Hang in there. We'll get through this."

Just as Zack pocketed the phone, Tifa came bursting through the inn doors. "Sephiroth is apparently at the Shinra Manor," she panted, breathless from her run.

Maybe he hadn't lied to Aralyn after all—it seemed that Sephiroth was still close enough.

But whether he was within reach was another story entirely.

"That big mansion?" Zack asked for clarification, though he was pretty sure that he knew the one. It was hard to miss, especially when it was surrounded by such quaint little homes and shops that paled in comparison to its grandeur.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Shinra has owned it for a long time."

Zack paused only long enough to shout up to Cloud, but he ran off. The cadet could catch up. Zack was unwilling to sacrifice a second more.

* * *

Zack had barely stepped into the center of town when his phone rang. Not slowing his quick walk, he fished his phone out of his pocket and answered it as he opened it with a deft flick of his fingers and pressed it to his ear.

"Hel-looooo?" a sweet, musical voice greeted him.

"Aerith?" Zack exclaimed happily, finally stopping in surprise.

"I finally got through!" she said happily. He could hear the smile in her voice, and couldn't help but smile softly as well.

"Yeah…" He took the phone away from his ear for a moment as he checked around him for potential eavesdroppers. Cloud hadn't followed him as of yet, Tifa was well ahead of him on her way to the mansion, and the square was empty of pedestrians. Only when he judged it to be safe did he lean up against the well and continue his conversation.

"Uh, listen," he began, disappointed to have to cut this rare chance to talk with her short. "Now's not the best time. I'll call you later."

"No, no. You don't have to…" She seemed a little sad, but Zack knew that she understood.

"Okay, I'll come visit," he replied.

"I'll be here."

"I'll see you, I promise." He hung up with a small smile still on his lips. They hadn't said anything of consequence, but just hearing her voice had lifted his spirits to soaring.

"Aerith," he said to the sky. "Wait for me just a little while longer."

Cloud was ready now, dressed in his cadet uniform. Without a word, the both of them began the short venture to the Shinra Manor.

Sephiroth had to be okay. Zack had made a promise to Aralyn, and he intended to keep his word.

Soon, he told himself, they could both be with the women they loved.

* * *

A/N: I'm going out of town for a week, but the next chapter is ALMOST done. Hopefully I can post it after a little polishing when I get back in a week.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The Manor was large, but very cold in décor. The colors were warm and rich; the carpet was an earthen brown and the large staircases were some dark, expensive looking wood, but over it was a pall of abandonment that chilled the warmth out of the rich hues. The walls were solid beige, with decorative taupe wallpaper strips. Unlit lamps dotted the walls, the glass bowls still dark with ash from candles ignited and extinguished long ago, the brass mottled with tarnish. The light came from large windows, golden, but sallow through glass that had not been cleaned for years. The writhing, vine-like metalwork around the glass structures was darkened with decay, having lost its luster.

Everything he saw was made to be elegant, but everything was also touched with blemishes of neglect. Any glory or splendor the Manor might have once had was now lost to time. A gloomy, heavy and yet empty aura was in the stale, dusty air.

Zack walked quickly, but as softly as he could, feeling like he was treading on once hallowed ground. There was something in the air that seemed to demand his reverence.

"Sephiroth apparently went to the second-floor room on the right," Cloud said, jerking Zack to the situation at hand. Nodding, Zack followed the cadet up the curved staircase. He was now on hardwood flooring, and the resonance his footsteps made in the large, empty room was eerie.

The second-floor room on the right looked to once have been a large bedroom, perhaps a woman's. He was still on hardwood, but in the center of the room was a large circular rug of the carpet he had seen downstairs that at least dimmed the hollow echo of his footfalls a little. Only shreds of faded lace curtains remained over wooden framed windows, strips of which had simply fallen to the floor due to extreme age. The remaining coverings did little to hold back the cold sunlight. A small desk of mahogany stood against the far wall, between two windows and under a small mounted lamp. On it was a vase with a flower wilted and bent with age, its dry, shriveled petals and a leaf from the stem had fallen to the yellowed tablecloth as the only withered remnants of the rose. A diary or record book of some sort was left on the desk next to an ink well carved of bluish jade and an elegant fountain pen.

The diary seemed to have been leafed through very recently, for a fresh handprint was on the dusted cover.

Zack knew that hand.

He did not take more time to observe and swung open a large wooden door leading to an inner chamber.

This chamber lacked the dignified order of the rest of the Manor. While the first few feet into the room were carpeted, it soon gave way to dusted stone. The walls were the same beige as before except for the furthermost wall, which was built from cold, gray bricks. A few bookshelves and a cabinet were placed pell-mell to the side. He could tell that they had been disturbed as well, for most were blown free of dust, rapidly skimmed through, and then replaced in a hurried, distraught, and disorganized manner. A few stray pages from spines too aged to hold them drifted like lost autumn leaves on the chill draft.

Zack ran to the stone wall and pushed. To his surprise, it grated out of his way on its own accord.

Zack descended into the darkness, not knowing what to expect.

* * *

He swiftly worked his way through a cavernous basement that was little more than a natural cave with the occasional staircase to aid in climbing or descending rocky slopes. The ceiling was supported by natural stalagmites and stalactites which met to form sturdy mineral columns. His way was lit by rusted iron lanterns hung from spikes driven into the rock walls of the cavern, their small bulbs flickering weakly, each light connected to each of its counterparts by several wires that ran along the walls around him. Ladders descended into pits, drawing him deeper and deeper into the darkness. On the lower levels, the atmosphere became more insidious. There were chains, bolted to the wall, rust red stains on the manacles. Some, by a tremendous feat of strength that Zack wasn't sure he wanted to imagine, had been ripped, their chains stretched and broken as easily as if they had been taffy.

Things had happened down here that he didn't want to know about.

It was a long journey through stale half-light, but eventually he made it to a door that had been installed into the rock. Cloud was no longer with him, and Zack fervently hoped that he hadn't gotten lost in this dismal place.

"…A life form in a state of suspended animation, excavated from a 2000-year-old stratum," Zack heard from behind the metal door. Against the silence of the earth, the soft rustle of thin, ancient pages and heavy, tortuously pensive footsteps were all too audible. Feverishly, the papers were scanned and cast aside, sometimes in quick succession, other times after a tense, heavy pause.

"Professor Gast named this life form Jenova…"

Zack knew his General's voice.

He heaved his body into the door, slamming it open with a noise that shattered the silence.

The cave might have been natural, but this next room had been built as if it was a normal edifice in the outdoors. The bricks were a gray-green, tinted brown with the accumulation of decay over time, and the room was cylindrical in shape with a high, domed ceiling. It was a large enough area, certainly built to comfortably suit several pieces of bulky equipment with lots of room besides. On wooden shelves were vials and flasks, (some empty, some full), next to tools ranging from the tongue depressors and stethoscope of a typical family doctor's to the fine, shining, and delicate tools of deep and intricate surgery. A mako tank, vacant but seemingly still in good repair, glowed with the ethereal residue of its deadly poison even though it was empty. There were several computers and control boards with an unimaginable number of functions, judging from the levers, buttons, switches, dials and gages. In the center of the room was an operating table, an enormous light hovering above, the manacles bolted to the flat surface crusted with red rust or worse.

Zack entered to find Sephiroth pacing aimlessly, all his attention on the leather-bound book balanced on his cupped palm. His face was oddly open, not as guarded as he normally was, and through a thin remnant of whatever resistance was left, Zack saw confusion, a thirst for knowledge. And yet there was a hesitance, a spark of intuition that tried futilely to draw him back. This conflict and more danced in his eyes, lies combating truth, with the only casualty being his own mind.

Zack watched his immaculate General become weak and timid as he wandered in his torment.

"Date: X/X/XX – Jenova verified as an Ancient…" He flipped the page restlessly. "Date: X/X/XX – Jenova project approved. Mako Reactor 1 authorized for use."

Quite abruptly, he stopped, staring down at the page intently. His steady hand was quivering.

He began his meandering again, this time wandering his way down a long but narrow hallway, his eyes never leaving the pages of the book. The walls of either side were filled with shelves, and each shelf was packed with books. Zack could see signs of Sephiroth disturbing their order in some places, but some were left untouched as of yet.

"My mother's name, Jenova…The Jenova Project…Could this be a coincidence?"

He stopped at the threshold of a small, warm study. The cozy area was carpeted in crimson, the walls filled with books, and furnished only by a large desk that only barely fit lengthwise into the circular room. Slowly, he lowered his hands to his side, the book still held open in his trembling grip.

"Professor Gast, why didn't you tell me?" In his voice was the hurt, betrayed child of the General's torturous past; the very same that Sephiroth fought all his life to keep secret and locked away in the darkness of bitter memory.

With head bowed under the weight of secret wounds, he whispered in childlike innocence, "Why did you die?"

* * *

Half of the shelves in the study were empty, Zack noticed. It didn't take him long to find them; they were piled high and haphazardly on the floor, on the desk, wherever they would not interfere with Sephiroth's pacing. Some seemed to have been dropped or thrown in anger or disappointment. These lay on their backs with pages splayed open.

Sephiroth set the book down on the desk and stood beside the lush, inviting velvet chair, but would not accept the rest it offered.

"Hey, man," Zack offered feebly.

He did not answer.

Zack walked up to his friend and extended a hand, reaching to grip his commander's shoulder in a sign of support. Sephiroth raised his head and looked at Zack; his haunted eyes were those of a dead man's.

"I would like to be alone," was all he said, and Death himself could not have spoken with any less life.

Zack staggered back instinctively, jarred by this cold stranger. His hand was still out, but there was too much stagnant space between them that couldn't be breached.

That was the first moment that Zack knew that his commander, his _friend_, had died.

Zack knew he could do nothing, and so respected the wish of this dark, foreign soul that had possessed his general's body.

He left without a sound. The silence was consuming, a fearful sound worse than if his friend had writhed and screamed in anguish. Zack retreated slowly, leaving Sephiroth alone—just as he had wished—entombed in his pain and the lifeless silence.

* * *

A/N: Who's excited for the upcoming chapters? Anyone wanna take a stab at what's coming next?

Poor Seph-Seph...


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_From that day, Sephiroth shut himself inside Shinra Manor and proceeded to review document after document, like a man possessed. _

_The lights in the basement never went off. _

_And on the seventh day…_

* * *

Cid was awakened at midnight by a frantic pounding on his front door. At first he dismissed it, rolled over, sleepily scoffed his irritation, and tried to go back to sleep.

"Mr. Highwind…_Mr. Highwind!_"

Cid grimaced and pulled the pillow over his ears, quickly going from irritated to dangerously irate. All the same, he was resolved not to give in to this prank.

"Mr. Highwind _please_…I beg of you…!"

It may have been a sick joke, but the kid sure was doing a fine acting job.

It was ten minutes more of the pounding and pleading before Cid had had enough. Groggily, he deducted that he was sufficiently awake to teach the delinquent a half-decent lesson.

He threw on the first clothing he saw, not noticing or caring what they were, grabbed a flashlight and threw the door open.

Crouched in his doorway, grasping to the wood to hold her body upright, was the most emaciated woman he had ever seen.

She had just escaped from a hospital; it was evident by her light, forget-me-not printed gown. She was dressed in nothing else, and her bare arms and ankles were white from the cold, her lips and fingertips a light shade of blue-lavender.

Cid was stunned to see the Shinra logo on her plastic wristband. For her to have come from Midgar to Rocket Town after being in such a critical condition was not a feasible thing to happen. And yet here she was on his doorstep, looking like she never should have been allowed to leave the hospital bed, much less the premises.

"What are you doing here?" Cid asked, eyeing her up and down. He wasn't sure, as her hospital gown was loose-fitting, but he thought her stomach looked a little swollen.

"Please sir, I need your help…"

"Come in. Now."

She stopped speaking, stunned a little by the brisk interruption, but she nodded gratefully and stepped inside to accept the offered hospitality.

"SHERA!" Cid hollered, banging on a door. "We got company!"

When he was satisfied that the shuffling behind the door was enough to guarantee that she was awake, he returned to the doorway to find that the woman had not moved from off the welcome mat.

"You gonna come in? Or is my hospitality not good enough for you?"

She flushed crimson, looking mortified to have offended him, and walked shyly in.

Shera came in, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers. She was clearly confused, but took one look at the stranger and was told all she needed and did not seek for more.

"Oh, you poor thing! What happened to you?"

"Shera," Cid barked. "Tea. Get her some tea."

"Sir I really can't—" the stranger began.

"TEA!" Cid roared at Shera, who scampered away. The woman was silenced, forced into acceptance. "Look, lady," he said. "I ain't listening to a word you say until you're properly warmed up."

"You are very kind, sir, but I shouldn't--"

"Sit down," he commanded.

She timidly perched herself on the edge of a seat, straight-backed and proper, but was wringing her hands worriedly, sick in her body and heart, both burdens weighing so heavily on her that she looked to be falling apart.

"SHERA!" Cid yelled again. "Is the tea on?"

"Yes."

"Then take care of her already, will you?"

"Please, Mr. Highwind, this can't wait!" the stranger cried, seizing his hand desperately. Her cerulean eyes were filled to the brink with shining tears. "I must get to the Forgotten Capital!"

Cid shook his hand out of her grasp. "You _daft_, woman? Do you know what _time_ it is?"

She choked. "I know, sir, but I have to…if I don't get there…something…something terrible will happen! My husband…" At a loss for words, she shakily placed a large brown bag in his hands.

"Leviathan, woman, how much is in here?"

"One million gil, sir."

Cid dropped the bag. "A freaking _million_…?!"

"If it isn't enough, I can pay more. Please, I _must_ get to the Capital, and you're my last hope!"

Cid stared at the bulging bag. _A million gil_? That was a lot to pay, even if it was an unexpected and inconvenient midnight ride.

"Where'd a girl like you get money like this?" he pried, eyeing her suspiciously.

She grew very uncomfortable with the question. "It's my inheritance," she said softly. "I claimed it…a bit early, for this purpose."

"And you offer _more_?"

"Yes, sir. My husband and I…he is very affluent. We have…more than enough."

"Who is your husband?"

She hesitated. "I can't tell you, Mr. Highwind," she whispered.

A hospital escapee mysteriously showing up at midnight and begging for a ride to the Forgotten Capital for reasons that she would not disclose was fair grounds for alarm. Her destination was a dangerous area in and of itself, and a visit at night and alone was a golden death wish. As frail as her health was, she may as well have asked Cid to kill her then and there for all the hope she had of survival. It should have smelled fishy, but Cid found himself oddly _un_suspicious. The circumstances were strange—he knew that undoubtedly—but improbable though her vague story sounded, he believed it.

"You know what you're asking for, girl?"

"My husband will protect me," she said with unfailing faith.

Cid shrugged. "One ride to the Forgotten Capital, then. I'll fire 'Lil Bronco up. Shera'll take care of you for a bit."

Tears of gratitude spilled from her shining eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, falling to her knees. "Thank you…I'll never be able to repay you."

"SHERA!" Cid roared to break the awkwardness. "Where's that blasted TEA?!"

* * *

Cid now knew why she had been in the hospital. As he was strapping her into the plane, he caught sight of two stamped insignias on her wristband: one for the critical care unit, and the other for the maternity ward.

Her eyes pleaded for him not to ask. He didn't need to; he guessed what happened easily enough.

Shera had outfitted the woman in a heavy cloak, gloves, hats, and scarves and then cocooned all of her thin body in blankets. The night winds were biting, and they had seen to it that the woman was well shielded.

Cid climbed in the cockpit and started the engines. The propellers whirred to life first, pushing them forward from the force of their wind. They rolled along the makeshift runway for a few feet before Cid pulled the nose of the plane up and they ascended into the skies. With an elated whoop of triumph, they rose above a flock of geese, a thin layer of fog, and took their place far above the bleak world beneath.

They soared amid the clouds, flying over the deep sea that glimmered in the moonlight. Cid was in his natural element, as comfortable as a seabird on the wind. His passion was the skies, and his heart beat with the thrill of being airborne.

"Ain't it beautiful?" he yelled over the roar of the biplane. He looked back to see that his passenger had not heard him. Her eyes were downcast and heavy with thought. Her mind was somewhere else.

"I'll get 'ya there, don't you worry," he hollered and then turned back to steering.

He could see that she was unreachable.

* * *

Aralyn had made up her mind from the moment her husband called.

It had been seven in the evening when her phone rang. She had just gotten out of surgery twelve hours before, and was hurting and exhausted. The anesthetics had not worn off yet, and it was all she could do to find the right button to receive the call through the nausea.

"Hello?" she rasped.

"Aralyn." The voice was hollow and strained.

"Sephiroth?" Aralyn began to cry despite herself, and was unable to keep the sobs out of her voice. "Why wouldn't you talk to me? What's wrong?"

"Aralyn," he called again. "I…"

He couldn't speak, but Aralyn heard enough from the silence.

"I'm coming."

"No!" he paused after the outburst. "…You need to heal."

"Sephiroth," she said. "I'm coming."

"The mission…it's over in a few days…"

"No, Sephiroth. I'm coming. I'm coming _now_."

He could deny it all he wanted, but Aralyn heard his need.

She didn't let herself remember her visions of Nibelheim, the nightmares of her husband with evil, poison eyes and a dark blade, the town and her angel consumed in flames.

Somehow, she had managed to make it out of the hospital and as far as Rocket Town. Chances were that she had been reported for suspicious behavior when she had withdrawn so much money from the bank, especially looking like she did. She didn't know. She didn't care.

Now that she was in the skies, her heart ached worse than ever. She delighted in flight. But it reminded her that she was being flown on cold wings of metal.

She ached for the strong arms and warm, living wing of her husband.

* * *

A/N: You have to think that Seph would be paid pretty well. Heck, I got my Cloud to get a million gil and all he did was run around the planet killing monsters!

I'm so sorry for the delay! It's been killing me. I had block and then school started and things got thrown in a plastic bag and beaten with a stick. It killed me not to be able to write, especially with this being in my head for so long. Forgive me? *offers cheese*

Erm. Next chapter is THE ONE. Actually, one of two of THE ONEs.

This is the second hardest thing I've ever had to write in my life. Bear with the sawdust and flying chunks please. :3


	9. Chapter 9

A/N1: Font clues are important. Italics **without** quotation marks are Jenova. With quotations are yelled or screamed exclamations.

Chapter Nine

He didn't how he had gone from Nibelheim to the Forgotten Capital or how long it had taken him. The night was an indistinguishable blur, a gray blend smeared beyond recognition. Perhaps he had run the distance, but then how had he crossed the sea separating the continents? Was it sweat or salty sea water that weighed him down? He had no answers, even though the key to the mystery lay across him, mangled and bleeding. He had no perception of his wing, its mere existence, or the pain of a terrible break in the fragile bones gained from a forgotten injury.

Time and sensation had been irrelevant. He couldn't recall a single image along the entirety of what must have been a lengthy voyage. If there had been sound, the faintest sound at all, he had not heard it. He could not recall the slightest memory, nor could he even place a drive to his flight. Why now? Why _here_?

At some point he had fallen unconscious, whether it had been due to fatigue or some other lurking, malevolent force, he couldn't say. His existence seemed to begin anew, springing from the present, as there was no past. He woke on his back, staring unseeingly at the black, starless sky through a web of shimmering tree branches, and from that point he began.

Confused as he was, he could still sense that there was something different.

_No, my son…this is the way things were meant to be._

He knew that voice somehow, though it was foreign to him.

_You are here, in my arms, everything is __**right**__! My son, my heir, my little godling…_

"Where am I?" he murmured through leaden lips.

_You are in my arms, and that is all that matters._

A small frown tugged at the corner of his lips. Something forebodingly electric was in the air, and the tension was thickening.

_My son…my little Sephiroth…fall back and trust me._

But he couldn't.

Something was making him uneasy.

His eyes finally saw how his wing draped grotesquely over his body, steadily leaking crimson. The revelation only confused him further. He still could not comprehend the injury.

_A flesh wound, gained when you fell from the skies, love. _The woman cooed sweetly. _Let me mend your broken wing._

He stared on as his wing straightened from the unseen caress of the woman in his mind, how the stream of blood was stanched and the white of bone disappeared beneath ebony plumage once more. When the metamorphosis was complete, his wing fell gracefully to the ground, limp but no longer wounded.

But neither was the appendage made whole. This healing was not true.

Something wasn't right.

Experimentally, he stood, slowly straightening himself, holding himself up with the aid of the tree under which he had fallen. He flexed his hands at his side, (at least, he thought he did), but it seemed that his mind and body were no longer connected, or at least the link between the two was very near paralyzed. He had the disconcerting sensation of being a prisoner in his own body, a puppet of a higher master.

He held his hand up to his face (unsure if he had commanded his body or something else had) and tried to curl his fingers. They responded once to his own will, then flickered between unresponsive and lazily complying. After a few trials, he felt his hands enfolded by another set of hands, one that he didn't know, to still his resistance.

_Sephiroth, my strong son, don't you know me? I, who gave you life? Why do you shy away from your own—_

"—Mother."

Something was very wrong.

_Sephiroth…_

"Sephiroth!"

He knew this voice. The other entity flared in anger and he felt himself lurch (when had he started feeling again, he wondered?) but then the quiet enticing of the formless woman was vanquished, and Sephiroth (he now knew that it was his name, though he had not when the voice in his mind had called him that) was left in silence.

But not for long. The music came soon enough.

"Sephiroth?"

She was here. He knew her presence by her aura alone.

"Aralyn," he called, if only a little timidly. But he didn't need a response, he knew it was her.

Bile rose in his throat and he was suddenly, inexplicably angry. No, he corrected himself. _She _was angry. But it was hard, so very hard, to separate the entity's existence from his own.

The fire fled as cool hands touched his cheeks.

"I'm here," Aralyn whispered. "I'm here."

And power and freedom flooded through his limbs at long last.

* * *

He was dazzled by the change. The liberation had been complete and instantaneous, and he was dizzy with the rediscovered power in his body.

But not for long. With freedom came memory.

"Aralyn," he groaned in agony as he fell to his knees, his overwhelming strength failing him.

She enfolded him in her pale arms, clutching him to her throbbing heart. She held him as he floundered in darkness. She was his anchor, his light, his angel calling him back and offering to fly him far, far away from the pain on white wings of healing.

While his heart screamed for his wife, another hissing voice stabbed him relentlessly. _Vile filth! Make her release you! Tainted…disgusting…__**human**_!

Something was tampering with his emotions. He was feeling things he shouldn't have. His thoughts were crimson and violent. _What's happening to me…? _He thought in horror.

"Sephiroth?" Aralyn asked, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. "Seph? What is it?" When he first looked at her he saw the image of a corpse, but it faded as his heart stopped.

"You shouldn't have come!" The words were rushed, strained. It was impossible to speak. He didn't know how he did.

"You needed me," she said tenderly. Then, even softer, "And I needed you."

Sephiroth stifled a feral sound that tried to tear from his throat. Horrified, he threw himself back, slumping down to sit against the tree when the flash had passed, exhausted from this battle within his soul.

Aralyn would not retreat. With sapphire eyes filled with tears for his anguish, she softly slid into his lap and lay against his heaving chest, her arms wrapped gently around his torso.

"Sephiroth, what happened?"

It was cold, he noticed, and his love was trembling. Under the umbrella of the large white tree the falling snow was kept at bay, but the bitter winds still cut her to the bone. Though his wing still felt sore from the superficial healing, he extended it to shield her small, thin frame, blanketing her in the plumage. She stilled, and he held to her as she held to him. Wrapped in each other's arms, surrounded by Sephiroth's wing, they could almost be at peace.

Sephiroth closed his eyes and drifted, lulled into the beginnings of serenity by his angel's presence. Neither of them spoke.

"We'll put this all behind us," Aralyn said.

Sephiroth choked. All that had happened, all he had put Aralyn through, how much she had suffered because she was his wife, was too much for him.

He slipped.

_She_ seized the lapse.

Aralyn screamed.

Sephiroth violently flung her away out of pure instinct, knowing in his heart what had happened before his mind did. She flew out from under the cover of the tree to land in the snow, face down. She barely stirred for a long time, weak and in shock. Though wounded, (the snow around her was already a disconcerting pink), the impulse had been true, and had probably saved her life.

Against the paleness of the snow and her own sickly flesh, Sephiroth saw the prints of his own hands etched in dark, livid bruises on her arms. One arm was broken from the unnatural strength he had unwittingly clung to her with. Her breathing was irregular and pained; he had broken ribs as well, and through her thin hospital gown he could see a small but quickly blooming blossom of blood.

_My son,_ the woman's voice cooed soothingly. _See how easily she bleeds? Such frail filth…_

Sephiroth knew that _she_ was the one who had made him do it. _She_ had made his embrace deadly.

He had been a breath away from crushing the life from his love with his own arms.

Sephiroth let out a strangled cry and jumped back, trying to distance himself from Aralyn, lest he do more damage. He threw himself down and tried to wipe the blood from his hands off on the dead winter grass, but the stains only smeared and worsened.

He knew they would never, ever fade from his eyes.

He ripped his gloves off in revulsion, throwing them as far as he could, but the howling gale blew them back to him.

Aralyn was struggling to her feel in the snow, confused but not doubting her husband. There was no glimmer of betrayal in her eyes. "Sephiroth?"

"Stay back!" Sephiroth hissed, horrified at what he'd done, what the entity was coercing him to do.

"Seph…what's happened?"

He tried to step back and escape but his feet were lead. _My son, my son, look at her! You deserve so much better…you'll never think twice of her after it's done…_

"_No!_"

"Sephiroth!" No broken arm or ribs, not any pain or death could keep her from him. She ran, ignoring her injuries in response to her husband's struggle.

"Aralyn, _stay away from me_!"

She would not stop.

"_Aralyn!!_"

_Oh, my perfect son,_ the woman cooed softly as Aralyn ran toward him. _Look at what she's done to you. Because of her, I must not hesitate._

"No…no…" His words were feeble retorts. His senses were heightening, things were excruciatingly clear, but he was also slipping, losing control. He could feel her seize his body and make his mind a helpless witness.

_You will love me, my son. Someday, someday _soon_, you will call me mother and love me as such. We will leave this planet and rule in the heavens. You will be a god, my love! But first…first, my perfect son…_

His hands moved to his sheathe without his consent.

_You will learn that I am to be obeyed._

When Aralyn reached him, she was not enfolded by her husband's arms, outstretched to receive her.

All that met her was the cold, crippling bite of Masamune.

* * *

A/N2: ..............................

.....................don't kill me?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Aralyn looked first to the sword that skewered her thin body. The angled, honed point dripped with red.

Her hands quivered, parallel to the strong steel.

His hands shook, taking slivers from her frame as the sword moved.

Jenova crowed behind Sephiroth's conscience.

"S-Sephi?" Aralyn breathed, eyes wide. "Sephiroth? Wha--?"

His hands, under an unconquerable influence, savagely ripped the blade from her body, and Aralyn could not suppress a scream. She fell, bent in pain, feebly trying to support herself with her broken arm on the earth. The other hand was clenched over her heart as if to stanch the wound, but to no avail. The crimson was rapidly consuming her white hospital gown.

He had drawn his beloved's blood.

Sephiroth's soul screamed with the torturous burn of it on his hands.

"Sephiroth?" Aralyn asked, and again sought out his eyes.

His blade arched again, splitting her back, and again she screamed as she was thrown to the ground by the raw force of the blow. She was down, but it was not over.

_"Get up, you wretched human!" _The voice was not his. With more than sufficient force, his blade was hurled downward, through her thin body and deep into the earth beneath.

There was less blood this time, and she could no longer muster enough breath to scream.

But, helpless as a puppet, he swung yet again, swooping low and then upward, and caught Aralyn in the shoulder. The blow carried her limp body with the path of the blade as she hung, helpless, from its point. He pinned her to the weeping willow tree, her feet dangling above the ground.

Aralyn was horrifically silent through the duration of the brutal attack. She made no sound as she hung from the blade, head bowed as pain and shock rendered her unconscious.

He withdrew the blade to awaken Aralyn, who began to fall forward. He held the sword at the level of her heart, warning her not to lean any more. Gasping desperately, she reached behind her, pressing her back to the white tree and gripping to the soft bark as best that her bloodied, shaking hands could.

_Perfect…_ the entity purred.

The tip of the Masamune grazed the hollow of her neck, then slowly, leisurely, pulled upwards, drawing the barest line of blood along her throat, under her chin, until she was forced by the blade to either look up into his haunted eyes or end her life against the cold edge of his sword.

_This, my son, __**this **__is beauty._

Damp hair strayed into her face as she looked upward to him, pleading with the soft tilt of her eyes, the thin crease of her lips as they opened to ask the inescapable question.

"Why?"

He silenced her with a rain of blows. He struck her face, her arms, her stomach, his blade moving faster than a whip and with much more power. The blood was flung across the clean snow, creating ugly blots that were soon consumed in thick pools splattered on the ground. The emotions that the parasite within him was inducing were excruciating. Her bloodlust was insatiable, and therefore, so was his. To her, the spilled blood was ecstasy, the screams euphoria, the anguish in his wife's eyes rapture, and so, behind his horror, he felt the same way.

"Sephi—!" But Aralyn could never call his name before a scream of pain tore itself from her flayed throat. "Seph---stop…_ah_! Seph – _**please**_--!""

_Beautiful workmanship, my godling…stunning…_

_Stop this! _Sephiroth's soul screamed in anguish. Pride was gone. He was begging shamefully, and it meant nothing to him. Every heartbeat that this continued Aralyn was hurt further. It wouldn't be long before her heart burst from the sorrow, if she didn't die of her physical wounds first. _Stop…I'll do __**anything**__! You want me…take me! Leave Aralyn out of this!_

The entity stopped the brutal assault, and Aralyn fell to the ground. She was deathly still.

_No…no…__**NO**__! _

_Yes. Yes, my son. It is done._

But it wasn't. A soft, strangled sob came from Aralyn's lips. "Sephiroth? W—Why…?"

Unbidden, his boot smacked into her unprotected side, tossing her mercilessly unto her back. She struggled to breathe under the weight of her own chest, choking, gasping, mouth open but unable to draw in enough breath. Blood trickled from the corners of her lips.

_Why won't she just __**die**__? _His puppeteer growled in frustration. Her fun was over; now, it was to business.

Sephiroth's bloodstained hands locked around Aralyn's pale throat.

She screamed only for a moment, and then breathed no longer. She reached her frail hands upward, seizing the arms that constricted her neck, cleaving to her murderer. She did not claw at him in desperation, but rather, tried desperately to reach for him with open palms. She knew she was dying, but she did not know her killer, and even tried in vain to lovingly caress the face of her angel one last time while he pitilessly throttled the life's breath from her body. As he strangled her, her lips formed his name again and again, calling, crying. Her eyes were wild with disbelief. Tears of fear streamed down her cheeks.

She didn't understand. She _couldn't_ understand. She couldn't comprehend that her husband, her angel and her strength, was killing her.

"Sephiroth!" Aralyn gasped with her precious, scarce breath. "Sephiroth, help me!" she pleaded.

He beat her against the ground, still gripping her throat in an iron vice.

Once, twice, three times he slammed her into the earth, and three times her lips parted in a soundless, breathless scream. Four, five, six times, and she couldn't even do that.

His sensitive hands felt every frantic beat of her pulse, and how it slowed…

On the ring finger of her broken arm, the diamond in her wedding band glinted in the moonlight. The blood dripping onto her sallow hand lubricated the ring, and it began to slide from her thin finger. She clenched her hand into a fist, knuckles whiter than the falling snow. She refused to relinquish it, even as her life was ripped from her tortured body.

She met his eyes one last time; not looking at him, but into him. She saw the malevolent puppeteer, he was certain of it. "What have you done?" she breathed to her husband's captor. Then, rallying the last of her strength, cried, "_What have you done to my angel?!_"

She fell limp in his hands, pale and cold as death, with her wedding band still clenched in her fervent fist.

_Well done, my son._

The entity, the monster, raised his hands, his Masamune, and plunged it into Aralyn's chest with a savage blow that left Sephiroth with no doubt that his wife's heart had been torn asunder. Aralyn did not respond with so much as a flinch. The wound did not bleed.

The blow had not been necessary.

Aralyn lost her life under the shade of the white weeping willow tree, drenched in her own blood, killed not only by the scars inflicted by her husband's own hands, but also from much deeper, graver wounds of the heart.

As his captor dragged him away in chains, Sephiroth knew that the white weeping willow tree in the clearing would forever mark the place where he, too, had died.

* * *

A/N: ....erm....

Yeah.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

He was so still, she noticed; disconcertingly so. As she carried her son's body back to the wretched town where she was entombed, Jenova couldn't help but worry a little.

_Does she hold your soul still, even in death?_ she asked her son. _Are you still that wretch's captive?_

No answer. His spirit was mute and still.

_Time will free you, my son,_ she cooed, reaching out to tenderly stroke his suffering soul. _**I**__ will free you from that terrible witch._

Her son responded at last. At her caress, he writhed, trembling like a small child in fear. In his despondency, he tried to shy away from her touch, but was too weak. His defenses were feebly raised, but were mere cobwebs for Jenova to sweep away.

Jenova was angry for such a display of frailty, even if it was even only in the deepest recesses of his soul, but her anger was not pointed her perfect son.

It was because of that filthy sorceress that her immaculate, perfect son's soul was in shambles.

_Hush, my child. She is gone. _

He withered at her words and would not accept her warm embrace.

And so she let him dwindle in silence. She knew that he would be driven into her loving arms when he could bear no more of the pain. It would serve her well, in the end; a son who was not submissive and respectful to her will, (_broken, _as it was,) would be a poor servant. And she did _know_ that the anguish would break him, and when time and pain had torn him asunder, she would be left with unbiased material to rebuild a god with.

He _would_ come to her, she was certain, but it was taking longer than she had expected. She cursed that wretched human that had made such extreme measures necessary.

It was hard work to drive her son's body on after she had lain submerged for so long. She had been forced to expend far too much energy on exterminating that woman, and she knew she could not function for much longer. Sephiroth was too broken to so much as assist her in swinging his own leg forward; he was comatose, useless for this long voyage back to Nibelheim.

_Sephiroth…awake! Arise!_

He was unresponsive.

_**Sephiroth!**_she roared.

Nothing.

And her probing to find out why resulted in the finding of an impossible phenomenon.

Sephiroth was dying.

In alarm, she washed her presence through her son's body. She scrutinized him inside and out, and found little: an odd numbing in his limbs, shallow breathing, minor chest pain, and a moribund coolness throughout his body…typical symptoms of post-traumatic shock. Surely nothing that would fell a _god_…

And yet she felt his life slipping away like water in her fingers.

_**Impossible!**_ she roared. _That pathetic__** girl**__ is killing you!_

But it was quite useless to vent. By now, he was far, far beyond her reach. She was the only force animating this corpse on the cusp of death.

"Ara---" Sephiroth moaned breathily in the voice of a dead man.

She constricted her son's throat. She would not let him waste the last of his breath on useless pleas to that girl.

And she would _not_ let him die. Not when Nibelheim, when their _reunion_, was so very near!

_Hush, son,_ she crooned, expending a little of her precious energy to wash her son in a false warmth. _Mother will protect you. Hang on just a little longer, and I will restore you to all that you were and more!_

He couldn't speak, but she felt the flicker of his thought penetrate her consciousness.

_Let me go! Let me be with her again…_was his final plea.

The small mountain town was within sight, the lights in the windows flickering like crestfallen little stars exiled from the lifeless sky. Jenova slowly eased her son's body to the ground, letting him lie for a moment, as she gazed at the innocent little community that had been her prison for so many long years.

It looked close enough for her to make it on the energy she had left, though it would be hard to drag her son entirely on her own. She paused their travel for a moment to calculate a strategy. She had to minimize distractions once they entered the town so she could make it back to the reactor with her son in tow.

_Zack_.

The name rudely popped into her head and her mood soured further. He would be sure to frustrate things. But the solution came easily enough: she'd just send him to rescue that dead girl and he would be out of the way.

Shifting her focus to animating her son's limbs once more, she pulled his cell phone from his cloak and dialed the number of her son's fellow Soldier.

* * *

"Aralyn. She's in the Forgotten City. Help her."

That was all the message had said.

Zack stared at the phone and hit the repeat key, listening to the brief recording for the eighth time.

"Aralyn. She's in the Forgotten City. Help her."

The Soldier shook his head. There was too much wrong with this, and questions were buzzing so loudly in his head that he could barely decipher his own thoughts. The voice sounded nothing like his general's; the recording sounded robotic, he thought. Or dead. Or both. What on earth was Sephiroth doing in the Forgotten City in the middle of an investigation and at this time of night? And if Aralyn was in trouble and Sephiroth couldn't save her, Zack certainly couldn't do a thing. Not that he didn't want to help the woman he viewed as a little sister, but why was he necessary? Wasn't Sephiroth at her side? He would have rushed to save her far before he would even think to call, _especially_ if it involved Aralyn and danger in the same area.

Zack didn't need the answers to know it meant that something was terribly wrong.

Tossing rationality to the side, Zack leapt from his bed and began to outfit himself for combat.

"Cloud," he called, jostling his companion awake. "You're in charge of the mission."

"Wha--?"

"I have to leave town. It's urgent. I'll be back as soon as I can. Until I do, you're head honcho, got it?"

"Zack, what are---"

But the Soldier was on his motorcycle, speeding toward the Forgotten City, before the cadet could get an explanation from his superior.

* * *

Jenova saw Zack speed away, off on a useless errand, and slipped back into the shell of her son's body. Now that all possible distractions had been eliminated, she was fairly certain that she would make it back to the reactor, where she could claim her full strength and revive her son. It was only a few miles away.

Those few miles stretched. Sephiroth's feet were like lead – almost impossible to lift and swing forward. A few times, she considered leaving his corpse and returning when she had returned to full power, but too much could go wrong. She was on the path that Zack would take when he would return with that woman's corpse; the Soldier might find Sephiroth, and Jenova knew that if her son beheld his wife and all he had done to her again, he would die. There was also no guarantee that he would survive without her presence shielding his flickering life-spark from the gales of death. If she withdrew, he would die faster, and then he would be beyond her reach for eternity.

It was in the last few hours of the night that she reached the threshold of Nibelheim, her son in tow.

_We are here,_ she crooned to Sephiroth's silent spirit. _I will heal you now, I will show you true power! You will be glorious, my godling!_

He didn't respond. She hadn't expected him to.

But he _would_ witness this.

She took what life remained and coerced it into his eyes. It took nearly all her strength to hold him that way, he kept trying to fall back, but she wanted him to see this.

_Nibelheim._ Jenova began, letting all her ire spill into her words. _They have kept me here for years, away from you, my love. I was captive...to be a plaything to those fools who call themselves scientists. _

She spoke fondly now, stroking his spirit lovingly. _I only endured it for you, Sephiroth. I knew one day I would cradle you in my arms and call you mine forever and ever. _

_Now…my glorious son…let us avenge those years of our separation. _

She probed her son's blade, feeling for a small pulse of energy as she sent a tendril of her power down the hilt. A fire materia responded, quivering with anticipation and pent up magic that was eager to be released.

_It is a fitting end for such a vile place and its disgusting inhabitants. They, who robbed you of me, and me of you. My son…my beautiful, perfect son…_

She was close enough to the reactor to feel her energy beginning to return. Laughing maniacally with her son's voice, she sent a flare of power into the materia. It drank, hungrily, and thirsted for more as her son's magnificent blade began to burn with the fires of rage.

_Watch as our oppressors __**burn**__!_

She swung the Masamune, and a wave of flame washed over the defenseless city.

_**Burn…Nibelheim! **_Jenova shrieked in ecstasy as the people screamed in alarm. **_Burn…Burn, and die!_**

**_

* * *

_**

A/N: Jenova's a bit of a nutcase.


End file.
